Fly
by particularly good finder
Summary: Kurt made his mother a promise to never, ever lose himself. And he plans to keep that promise.


"Mommy, what's this song about?" Kurt asked, turning to face his mother. Katherine Hummel smiled, scooting closer to her son in the small hospital bed.

"It's a metaphor, sweetie. The blackbird is a sad, hurt person, and the singer is telling them to try to get past the bad thing in their life and continue living on."

Kurt snuggled against her shoulder as the tape played on. "So…the bad things break the person? Like the blackbirds wings? But they have to fly anyways?"

Kathy smiled, kissing her precious baby boy. "Yes. Now, you have to promise me something, okay?"

Kurt nodded. "What is it, Mama?"

She put her lips against his ear, whispering, "When I'm gone, I need you to fly as high as you can, no matter how broken your wings are. Can you do that for me?"

Though a lump was forming in his throat, Kurt nodded, putting on a brave face. "Okay, Mommy."

The song ended, and Katherine pulled out the tape, handing it to her son. "Keep this," she told him. "It'll remind you of your promise to me." She paused, then cupped his face her in hands. "You are a special, one-of-a-kind boy, Kurt. Don't ever lose that. Don't let your sadness bring you down."

Kurt gripped the tape tightly, feeling tears well up as he kissed his mom. When he and Burt bid goodbye that night, he made his dad play the tape in the car all the way home.

Katherine Anne Hummel was declared dead at 6:21 the next morning.

* * *

When Pavarotti died, Kurt was not prepared for it. He ad grown attached to the little bird, and his passing was not taken lightly. Kurt Hummel was a sensitive soul, and death – no matter whose – was a _very_ touchy subject for him.

And then there was the symbolism. Kurt had come to see Pav as his individuality, caged in but singing freely. He had hoped that one day he would set Pavarotti free, when he, too, regained his freedom of identity.

So seeing his individuality die…well, it felt like he was fading away, falling out of the sky on broken wings.

_No. Never. He could never stop flying_.

Kurt wouldn't realize it until he looked in the mirror to fix his tie, but tears were flowing freely down his face, and he wasn't quite sure whom they were for.

* * *

When he handed his mom's tape to Wes, Kurt wasn't sure if he'd be able to sing. But he had to, for the voices that had been silenced too soon.

And when he sang the words, "_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_," he knew that he had found himself again. His individuality had broken past its cage, flying towards the heavens.

Blaine could see it happening. The person that Kurt _was_ had reappeared, after hiding from torment and conforming to the new environment for so long. This was Kurt Hummel.

And _this_ was the boy that Blaine Anderson was falling in love with.

* * *

When Blaine told Kurt of his revelation, the only thing that went through Kurt's mind was the song: "_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see_." The look in Blaine's eyes was one of epiphany and adoration, of _seeing_ Kurt for the first time.

And then Blaine kissed him. It was soft and brief and _oh so_ tender, and Kurt's heart fluttered like the wings of a bird taking flight.

They pulled apart, shocked and panting and ecstatic. And once Blaine's lips met Kurt's again, another line passed through Kurt's mind, causing him to tear up a little.

"_You were only waiting for this moment to arise_."

* * *

Pav's funeral was attended by the two of them, and the familiar solemness filled Kurt with sorrow and dread. He set a rose down on the makeshift grave, suppressing memories of his mother's funeral.

Blaine seemed to know what Kurt was thinking, and asked him about it as they linked hands. Kurt just muttered a laconic answer, fingers tingling at the contact. His heart swelled, and he led Blaine away from the grave, smiling at his boyfriend. They passed other people on their way into town, people who gawked at their intertwined hands, but Kurt just gave them haughty looks, smirking. Blaine pecked him on the cheek, as bold and bright as the blue-eyed boy now in this euphoric state of young love.

Kurt was flying on mending wings again, another broken boy by his side. In his pocket, the Beatles tape weighed against his side, reminding him of the promise he was upholding.

As they reached the car, Kurt started to hum, kissing Blaine gently.

"_You were only waiting for this moment to be free_."


End file.
